Hephaistion's Lion
by Lysis
Summary: Alexandros' response to the death of Hephaistion, his beloved with the aid of a precious object loved by both of them left for him by Hephaistion to help him in his time of grief.
1. Chapter 1

_**HEPHAISTION'S LION **_

_**Author: Lysais (copyright 2006 by Elizabeth C. Owens – updated 11/16/11_**_

_**A short story about Alexandros' reaction to Hephaistion's death.**_

_**Part II: Alexandros **_

**Note:** This was written several years back, but recently, Rain Day requested it be reloaded for reading. So here it is. As a note, I have removed most of my online work due to the recent publication of the first of my novels on Alexander and Hephaistion. They are now available for sale on Amazon Kindle under the title of _The__Books__of__Alexander,__Book__I,__Of__the__Blood_, by Chrystana Lysais. If someone would like to have me upload a copy of a fic already written just let me know. I'll be happy to do it for you. Thank you. Elizabeth Owens

Part I

The small figurine stood alone in the dark, but no breath of sadness lay over its proud form. It stood fearless upon its plain of beaten gold, as the mighty Hera-Ra he had read about as a boy, the fabled fighting lion of the great Egyptian Pharaoh Rameses the Second. Yet he knew it was in despair until he had come. Its small cry had echoed with it and its front paws shook the air with its dismay. The despair had gone from it when he took it from the room. It sat now high and mighty upon his hand as he caressed the small, delicately carved paws and brought the yellow in its unruly mane fully back to life as it was made bright, again, by his tears. It was an old thing, as old as their love, as their life together and had been through it all with them. Its crisp, bright lines and paint had become softened, muted until it was a gentle lion, tamed by time, and seasoned by the caresses of their rough and calloused fingers.

It held more tales in its small wooden body and had traveled further and seen more sights than a caravan a year out on the Silk Road. It had lived with them both wrapped against the drying cold of snowy peaks lovingly in the folds of their cloaks and sitting up proud on tables of gold and glittering with gems in warmer climes. They had shared it, as do two parents a much loved child, not wanting much to let it out of their sight, but unable to spare the other the joy in it's company.

Hephaistion had it last. He had given it to him to keep him company, a sop against missing the boy's race, a favorite of Hephaistion's as were the flute and kithara contests. He frowned, thinking trying to recall the orders he had issued. Had he ordered the cessation of all flute playing? He was sure he had when he had cut his hair. His hand traveled over the still unexpected feeling of his shorn locks. He taken his dagger and sawed them off, every strand. Leaving a pile of gleaming silver-gold on the floor where he stood. What else had he ordered? His thoughts seemed foggy if they ventured beyond the quiet of the room around him. It was as though the incense the priests had lit in Hephaistion's room had crept into his mind and it swam in dimmed frankincense and ambergris scented sea.

He only seemed to remember how they had laughed over a private joke – Hephaistion, still a bit wan and too thin, but more again himself when pouting a little in frustration and bouncing the wooden lion on his knee, he promised to tend to the doctor's orders and his orders. 'Yes, Great King of Kings.' Hephaistion had teased while listening to his pronouncements to rest and drink only of the nourishing soup he had brought with his own hands. He had kissed him then, quickly, never knowing it was to be their last and took his leave.

He kissed the lion and rubbed the silky wood against his cheek. "I did not see the sign until too late. Forgive me, my friend that I left you there, alone in the darkness. Yet you were steadfast, did not waiver or flee from that inconstant place of fear, but stood your ground, as he did, as he has always done, with pride, with the valor that is my Patroclus. May the gods welcome him in, for now he has found glory."

He recalled upon his arrival, breathless and already full of dread as though some god had whispered in his ear a dream he was only now half remembering taking the dear face into his hands, kissing it, washing it with his tears. His skin had been warm still, soft still, still holding some trace there in the eyes, in the breathe that he tried to breath back into the silent form of Hephaistion. "Hetairi, hetairi, Hephaistion, come back. Do not go without me." In the first few moments, the agony was such that he knew he could not survive, and could feel the hot pressure in his chest pushing toward his own end. He knew nothing but darkness within himself, all sound rushed outward escaping him, his eyes failed and he saw nothing before him, his senses spiraled around him bringing in the voices of the Furies to claim the virtue of his mind.

He knew as each breath ripped at him, cut him to the quick, vanquishing any hope that his despair was sharper than Darius' scythed chariots at Gaugamela. It took him to a place that was blacker, bleaker, and full of the utter desolation awaiting him. He knew there was no sound, no material, no object, no place or person- not even the call of Ares at that moment which could have succored him so deep was the anguish. It gnawed at his senses; all he could do was answer it with sobs. Then he had turned, as though the lion had called out to him and he had seen the sign. It had been there standing, waiting for him, warning him, but he had come to late. He remembered now the words spoken so long ago, given in trust, pledged in faith, a trust he had never broken until now. 

To be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

_**HEPHAISTION'S LION **_

_**Author: Lysais (copyright 2006 by Elizabeth C. Owens – updated 11/16/11_**_

_**A short story about Alexandros' reaction to Hephaistion's death.**_

_**Part II: Alexandros is caught up in his memories of his youth with Hephaistion and how they came to have the lion. **_

**Note:** This was written several years back, but recently, Rain Day requested it be reloaded for reading. So here it is. As a note, I have removed most of my online work due to the recent publication of the first of my novels on Alexander and Hephaistion. They are now available for sale on Amazon Kindle under the title of _The__Books__of__Alexander,__Book__I,__Of__the__Blood_, by Chrystana Lysais. If someone would like to have me upload a copy of a fic already written just let me know. I'll be happy to do it for you. Thank you. Elizabeth Owens

It was the summer of Alexandros' ninth birth celebration and seemed fragrant with memories. He could feel still the cool blue water beneath the burning arc of Helios they dipped their hands in while lazily sailing on the sea fed lagoon. They had both seemed to fall into enchantment with the world around them. Fresh fast flowing streams of molten bronze in deep wooded glades caught them up as they promised the sight of dryads behind the tan bark of peeling oak trees.

They caught a wild red fox and tried to keep it as a pet until it escaped by gnawing on its own tail, leaving them both awed and horrified, that summer when they both turned nine. They spent those long, hot days spent sailing in the little boat Hephaistion's uncle had given him or prowling the dusty, green hills around Pella, their city of smooth white stone seeing long armed Trojans behind every bush, brandishing their spears ready to attack. Their nights were given up to camping out under the twinkling stars and quiet dark sky, sated and full of roasted meat and sweet watered wine, for they were young yet, full of stories, secrets, fears and myths to share with one another. Hephaistion had given it to him then one day, a week before his ninth birthday, in the month of Loos.

"If you ever have need of me, place him in your window, standing upright."

"See," boyishly pleased Hephaistion had displayed the carving to stand upon its hind legs, as though ready to attack." "When he is positioned thus, I will know you are in distress and come. This I pledge you Alexandros. This I will do as long as I have breath in my body."

Of all the gifts, he had received that year, and there were many, he was after all a prince, the son of the High King, Hephaistion's lion was the most beloved. No other held the vow on which they had pledged one another. With their bronze and iron daggers, they had cut their fingers and mingled their red blood together, vowing before the unseen Gods as had Akhilles and Patroklos to always serve one another and seek the Good for one another and love one another. The lion would serve as their messenger to be passed back and forth in times of need. He had given his word of honor and until now, until that day he had never broken it.

He had kissed the mused, damp hair smoothing it back from the clear brow. His fingers shook but were tender upon the quiet lips. "So calm you are now. I will not care that you win next time; I will try harder than ever before so that as always your win is honorable. I will hear your every word, your every warning, I will not argue with you. I will keep my temper, I will…I will…." Tears from a sorrowing heart can sometimes call back the dead, but what the gods have ordained even he knew could not now be altered.

"Hetairi." Alexandros' voice was barely a caress in the otherwise empty room. There were trappings of majesty everywhere the eye sought, in the gold, and ebony columns that seemed to rise to the sky above so high were the ceilings, the polished black marble floor, the gold and silver furnishings, the great gilded bed he lay upon, but the man laying on rumpled Tyrian purple coverlet cared naught. All that had given him joy, all that he had measured his glory and kingship against was bound up in the soul of the other, and he was dead. He had not even his still form to hold against the breaking of his heart. For they had finally come, cajoling him with arguments and appeasements and taken him away leaving him with empty arms. Soon after, meek and speechless as a small child carrying within himself a sorrowful heart to heavy to bear he had allowed the others, Ptolemy, Leonnatus, Perdikkas and Nearkhos to lead him to his rooms. Here, he had lain. He wanted nothing and cared for nothing, for nothing would suffice or offer solace. For there was nothing he wanted in this world without his Hephaistion. The tears, which had come so quickly, so easily those first days would not speak for him now. They held back like his troops that day at Mali. So piercing was the wound, from this one he knew he would not recover. No matter, he told himself, I would speak without them. I will speak of him, for his name must be remembered, his name and what he was to me.

"Oh, Hephaistion," Alexandros, King of Makedon, Hegemon of the Hellenes, Pharaoh of Egypt, Conqueror and ruler of the Persian Empire sighed deeply, pressing the little lion to his heart. He laughed and listened to the echo fly about the large room, thinking it sounded with the dull, lonely call of a cold wind in the empty winter wood.

"Such a small thing, a child's gift, but I loved it, I cherished it." The tears taking their cue fell now, coming back, swelling up through his senses and flowing never, ending it would seem to him upon his face. He threw himself onto the pillows near him and with one shifting eye found his armor stand. It was missing, both sword and dagger, he realized this when he felt at his belt. His hands flying under the silken pillows toward the bed box met with disaster also.

They knew him well by now, his officers, his friends. He glanced over to the quiet form in a far corner. There would be no help of that kind from that quarter. The dark head lifted, the face, he noted was wet with tears. Bagoas sniffed wiping his eyes with his hands but did not move. He watched, waiting should he be needed. Alexandros' eye moved on toward the door. If he walked out and called _his_ name – would _he_ answer? Could his calling his name aloud bring him back? His thoughts swirled like the waters of the Styx, dark and full of the unknown.

Hot tears slicing through his courage that had for a moment pressed him upward took back the fight and he fell back. Eyes closed the lion clenched close to his heart he murmured softly. "I know now my death fate. Come Atropos, I honor the bargain made."

Only the lion heard the prayer.

Finis


End file.
